30 Day Drabble Challenge
by MyQuantumTheory
Summary: Doing a 30 day drabble challenge from tumblr as a writing exercise. These prompts, in no particular order: Beginning. Accusation. Restless. Snowflake. Haze. Flame. Formal. Companion. Move. Silver. Prepared. Knowledge. Denial. Wind. Order. Thanks. Look. Summer. Transformation. Tremble. Sunset. Mad. thousand. Outside. Winter. Diamond. Letters. Promise. Simple. Future.
1. Day 1: Accusation (Hotch, Prentiss)

**Author's note: ****I've decided to do a 30 day drabble challenge - the link is on my tumblr - and I thought I'd collect them all here. I might not post one each day but I do plan to get through all 30, so enjoy, and if you have some time please review! These are writing exercises for me and I'm new to this, so I really appreciate feedback :)**

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**Prompt: Accusation.**

She snatches the keys from his hand. "I'm driving," she says unnecessarily.

"Prentiss -" he begins, and it's his Unit Chief voice.

"Shut up," she snaps, and she's surprised when he does. She opens the passenger door and glares at him until he gets in. She gets in her side, slams the door and turns to him. "What the _hell_ was that?"

"I had to -"

"No, Hotch, you didn't."

"I made a tactical -"

"It was a stupid tactical decision! Listen, Hotch, you can't go on like this. You can't just keep throwing yourself into dangerous situations hoping to get shot. You're no good to yourself or your family _or us_ in this state."

"Prentiss, you're crossing a -"

"Don't you _dare_ 'Prentiss' me," she fumes. "Christ Hotch, you -" She stops abruptly as she feels tears threatening and glares at him until the moment passes. He glares back. "If you don't have a self preservation instinct, you don't belong in the field."

"My job is to keep people s-"

"Safe. Right. Exactly. The public, and your team, and _yourself_. I don't care how good you are – a Unit Chief on a suicide mission is no good to anybody. I'm sorry about Haley and Jack, Hotch, I am so sorry. But I know what you're doing and I won't let you do it. I won't let you go on like this."

He stares at her, stunned. "What am I doing?" he asks, putting an edge in his voice to keep the vulnerability out. She's disturbingly close to the bone.

"You think they're in danger because of you. You blame yourself, I get that. He wants to get to them to destroy you, and you think if you're gone then they'll be safe. But you're not about to just shoot yourself – that would hurt them. You think if you get yourself killed in the field then hey, they should have seen it coming, right? That's how you always thought you'd go. That way you die a hero."

He stares at her and he knows he should yell, he should tell her she's out of line, but instead he just stares. Then, knowing this is the wrong part of that speech to pick up on, he says, "Not a hero, Emily."

She registers his use of her first name, but it doesn't soften her. "Whatever. You think it'll screw them up less if you die in the field. I won't let you do this, Hotch."

He pauses a few moments, feels he should contradict her. He hasn't been _trying_ to get himself killed, but he's certainly been less careful. Maybe even more reckless. She's right – he is no good to anybody. No matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries… So maybe he's done trying. "What are you going to do about it?" he says, looking down at his legs when he realises how childish he sounds.

"You mean if yelling at you doesn't work?" she says, and she can't help the smile in her voice. "Hotch, people care about you, you know. People need you. We… I care about you." He looks up, and she raises her eyebrows. "But if that's not enough, I'll tell Strauss."


	2. Day 2: Sunset (Prentiss, JJ, Reid)

**Prompt: Sunset.**

JJ is just about to step onto the jet when she stops and turns. "Look," she says.

Emily, a step behind her, turns and smiles. The sunset is beautiful, a brilliant orange that reminds her of evenings in the French Alps with her grandfather, wrapped up and sitting in his lap eating bread so fresh it was still warm. "It's beautiful."

Reid bounds up the steps behind her, oblivious until he realises they aren't moving out of the doorway, then he turns. "You know, at sunset the light appears orange or red because of scattering – when the sun is highest in the sky the light doesn't have to pass through so much atmosphere to get to us, so it comes direct and we get almost all of it. But at sunset the light is coming from a different angle, passing through denser atmosphere that scatters away the light at the short end of the spectrum – like the violets and blues – whereas the orange and red wavelengths are able to pass thr-"

Rossi appears in the doorway behind JJ and says, "We were hoping to take off some time tonight."

Reid smiles sheepishly and Emily grins, patting him on the back and exchanging an indulgent smile with JJ as they step onto the jet. They take seats and talk about the case they've just wrapped, in muted tones because the victim they caught him with is still in surgery and they had to shoot the unsub – it doesn't feel much like a victory at the moment. When they're in the air, Hotch tells them to get some rest, but Emily, JJ and Reid stay sitting at the table, needing each other's company more than they need sleep right now. They're quiet for a while, then Emily says, "Hey, Reid?"

"Yeah?"

"Why orange? In DC it's red. But here it's orange."

He grins, taken in by the novelty of actually being _asked_ a physics question rather than just spouting facts and hoping someone will find them as interesting as he does. "When the light scatters through natural atmospheric gases, the orange and red wavelengths are able to make it through, but larger particles such as those produced by volcanic activity or air pollution scatter out the orange waves too. Red is the longest wavelength in the visible spectrum – it has the easiest time getting through large particles, like the air pollution in DC. The air is cleaner here, so we can see the orange too."

"Huh," she says, leaning her head against the window. "That's actually kind of cool."

"I know, right?" Reid grins. "And it's beautiful."

A professor friend of his mother's once told him he should lighten up, that he should try to just see the beauty in things rather than thinking about them so much. He was confused by that – he didn't know how anything could possibly be _less_ beautiful because you knew more about it… "Hey, guys? Do you think I should lighten up?" he says.

JJ and Emily exchange a look. "Are you happy?" JJ asks.

"Yes," he says, without missing a beat.

"Then you seem light enough to me."


	3. Day 3: Transformation (HotchPrentiss)

**Prompt: Transformation.**

She transforms all the time. He sees her on cases, with focus and determination, and suits so well tailored he's had to tear his eyes away more times than he can count. One minute she's the dragon in the interrogation room who can silence a suspect with one forceful 'sit down'; the next she's speaking softly to the families of the victims, with the combination of professionalism and compassion the Academy can't teach no matter how hard they try. He sees her come into the conference room messing around with the team, and leave with her game face on. She's so animated when she speaks, and so still and silent when she needs to get herself back together at the end of a case.

He's seen her in a hospital waiting room, slipping her hand into JJ's to offer the kind of quiet support and strength that's so completely _her_, and he's seen her cry in the corridor when she thought nobody was watching. She's stared him down with a granite expression as he accused her of joining the BAU with a political agenda, and responded with barely concealed disgust. And she's shown up in the same office looking lost and dishevelled, like she wandered in there because she didn't know where else to go.

He's seen her break down doors. And he's seen her sitting on the floor with his son, absorbed in something involving craft paper, safety scissors and a lot of glitter. It was in one of these moments he knew he wanted to see her every day for the rest of his life, and now here they are...

He thought he'd seen it all, but he has never seen her like this. She stands at the end of a short aisle with her arm linked through Rossi's. He feels Morgan's hand on his arm and forces his hands out of the nervous fists they've become as she starts to walk toward him. He can't look at her long enough to take everything in. The dress is white and silk and fits her so perfectly it could be liquid – he can barely take his eyes off the way it moves as she walks. Her hand is gripping Rossi's arm so tightly her knuckles are white and her smile is one he's only seen a handful of times before, cheeks flushed and eyes swimming with emotion. It's his favourite transformation yet.


	4. Day 4: Mad (Hotch, Garcia)

**Prompt: Mad.**

There's a quiet, tentative knock on his door, and he runs his hands over his face, making sure he doesn't look too exhausted. "Come in."

The door opens slowly, and Garcia stands at the other side, still not over the threshold. "Sir, may I um…?"

He gestures to the chair opposite him at his desk, and she steps in, closes the door behind her and sits down. Her face takes on a deer-in-headlights expression, and he folds his hands on the desk in front of him and raises his eyebrows a little. "Sir, I want to talk to you about um…" She drops her head, realising what she's doing is totally insane, and immediately backtracks. She starts getting up. "Actually, I'm sorry, this is totally -"

"Garcia."

She stops, half way to the door, and turns back slowly, apprehension written all over her face. "Sir?"

"Are you here about Emily?"

"Yes sir," she says, her voice tiny.

He drops his face to his hands again, and she doesn't know what to do – this looks very much like s show of emotion, but it's _Hotch_. So she just stands there in the middle of his office until he looks back up. "Then sit down," he says. "And say what you were going to say. And maybe just for now don't call me sir," he adds, his lips quirking up a little.

Smiling, she sits back down. "Okay. Um. Here's the thing. You should go to her apartment. I'd go, but I don't think she needs someone like me right now, I think she needs someone like you. She wants to see you. I'm completely sure of it."

He stares back at her. "She specifically told me no."

"I know that. I know. She was all messed up about the case and then she spent the entire flight home not talking to anybody, right?"

"Right."

"And then you asked her if she wanted you to go home with her as you got off the jet."

"Yes."

"And she said no. And she kind of yelled at you."

"Yes she did."

"She meant yes."

"Garcia…"

"And you know this somewhere inside because you're a profiler and I'm not. You know that she's so private that she gets herself all tied up inside and when she's trying to hide something she can get… She tries to push people away. But she still needs people, or at least she still _deserves _people. You totally know all of that. But you're…" She realises she's talked herself into a corner. In her head, that sentence ends _too afraid of rejection to see what's right in front of you_, but she doesn't think that'd go down well. "Um. You don't want her to yell at you again and tell you to go away. Which is totally understandable. But she _won't_."

He sighs, and his eyes are so sad she wants to hug him, but that would definitely be pushing it. "You're right," he says.

"Of course I am," she teases, trying to get the smile back on his face.

It works, sort of – one dimple. "I should go now, right?"

"Yeah."

He nods, and starts clearing stuff from his desk into his drawers.

"And sir?" He looks up, raises an eyebrow. "Take wine and chocolate."

He smiles. "Thank you, Penelope."

"Oh, don't mention it," she replies, grinning. "Good luck. It'll be okay. She can't stay mad at you."


	5. Day 5: Thanks (Hotch, Prentiss)

**Prompt: Thanks.**

They're on a case. It's round-the-clock – they're going back to the hotel for a couple of hours at a time in shifts just to keep their rooms available, and catching an hour or so of sleep here and there. Hotch is sleeping on the sofa, which is far too small for him – he hasn't been to the hotel yet. Emily sits at the table in the conference room they're working in, draining the last of her coffee, staring at the phone in front of her. Theoretically, she is manning the tip line – if anything comes in other than pranks and hysteria, the locals will put it straight through to her, but nothing so far. So mostly she is reading over and over the files and staring at the evidence board, trying to figure out a better lead, because this is getting them nowhere.

She's not sure what the sound is at first, then a split second later there's an uncomfortable churn in her stomach as she realises it's Hotch. A low, frightened moan, and then he's mumbling, the crease in his brow deepening as the nightmare takes hold. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, steeling herself, trying to build up her courage. He's intensely private, a picture of stoic strength, and he doesn't even _like_ her. He doesn't trust her as far as he can throw her, she knows that, and he'll be so embarrassed if she wakes him, but that's nothing compared to how he'll feel if someone else comes in and sees him in this state. And anyway, she has her own nightmares. And given the choice she'd rather not be left in them.

She takes a deep breath and crouches by the sofa. "Hotch." She touches his shoulder, and he jerks away. "Hotch, wake up." His face contorts in something like pain, and his hand twitches at his side. Without thinking, she grabs it and squeezes lightly. "Come on. Just a nightmare. It's okay, wake up. You're okay."

When his eyes open, they're wild and startled and tearing up. They meet hers in terror, then a slow realisation dawns over his face and he starts to close off, obviously embarrassed. "I'm sorry," he says, starting to sit up.

"No," she says quickly, dropping his hand and going back to sit at the table. "Stay there, you need sleep. I woke you up because you were – you know. Dreaming. Not because you need to be awake. Go back to sleep."

He sits up anyway, elbows on knees and head in hands. "Sorry," he repeats.

"Don't be. I get them too." He knows that, of course, there's no way to avoid it in the job they do. And in his position she'd feel exactly the way he does now. But what else can she say? She looks over and he still looks totally humiliated, and the exhaustion is creeping back over his face. "Hotch," she says, and he looks up. "There's nobody else here. It's just me. Now either go back to the hotel or go back to sleep. This is the quietest tip line in FBI history – I've got it covered." He starts to protest and she rolls her eyes. "Seriously. Go back to sleep." She pulls a file closer and opens it at the ME report.

He battles with himself for a moment, then nods. He's no good to the team when he can't keep his eyes open. Grudgingly, he lies back down. "Thank you… And uh… Prentiss?"

"I won't tell anyone," she says, without taking her eyes off the file.

"Thanks."

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_Speaking of 'thanks' - thank you to those of you reading and reviewing these little bits and bats. I really appreciate it! I hope you stick around and keep liking them._


	6. Day 6: Summer (Prentiss)

**Prompt: Summer**

"Hat back on, sweetheart," Emily insists, taking the sunhat from her daughter's hand and jamming it back onto her squirming, resistant head. "And come and sit here so I can put more suncream on you, please."

"Don't wanna," Abbie replies, pouting, but drops down onto the beach towel in front of Emily anyway. Emily chews the inside of her cheek, suppressing a laugh. She knows she's being a little over-protective, but it's their first beach holiday, and Abbie is only three, and she's _blonde_. And all things considered, she's being very tolerant – she's already wearing a wetsuit instead of the two-piece Little Mermaid swimsuit she really wanted. She just really hates hats.

"Good girl," Emily says, ignoring Abbie's scowl and rubbing sunscreen into chubby little hands and cheeks.

"You now."

"Yeah, I'll do mine now."

"I do it."

"You want to put suncream on me?" Emily says. Abbie nods. Emily points to where Aaron and Jack sit, nearer the water, absorbed in building what looks like a pretty complex sandcastle. "When you could be building a sandcastle with daddy and Jack?" She nods again. "Okay."

She turns over Abbie's hand, squeezes some suncream into it and holds her arms out. "Have at it then, beautiful."

Abbie giggles and gets to work, slapping on the cream and rubbing it in, all the way up both arms. She asks for more cream and Emily squeezes more into her hands. She teeters forward on her knees, rubs cream into Emily's neck, then down her chest. "Hurts?" she asks, tentatively touching the scar on her breast, just above the neckline of her swimsuit.

Emily smiles. "No, honey. It's okay, it doesn't hurt. Go ahead."

She's gentle anyway, like she doesn't quite believe her, and Emily stands her up, tilts up the brim of the sunhat and kisses her forehead. "You're a good girl. I love you, honey."

"Love you, mama."

"Come on, let's go get daddy and Jack."


	7. Day 7: Outside (Hotch, Prentiss, Jack)

**Prompt: Outside.**

She arrives unannounced at his door because he isn't answering his phone, and everyone is worried. Nobody expects him to spring right back from Haley's death, from what happened with Foyet, and obviously nobody expects him back at work. But he was doing the unfeasibly strong stoicism thing last time she saw him, and now he's unresponsive, and she's more than a little concerned. So she knocks the door. She's prepared for bad, but what greets her is worse. He's up and dressed, functioning, but his eyes… He lets her inside without a word, and he's so grateful for her in that moment, because she doesn't demand words. She tells him to put on some shoes, then goes into the living room to get Jack.

All the way to the park, she lets him walk in silence. She chats to Jack, tells him that it was such a beautiful morning that she just had to go for a walk in the park, and she thought they might like to join her. She tells him that she knows he's sad, but sometimes sunshine makes it feel a little bit better. When they get to the park, she takes a picnic blanket and a bag of bird seed out of her bag. Jack leans over curiously. "What's that for?"

"For feeding the birds. I thought you might like that."

He smiles a little. He likes birds. Hotch squeezes his hand.

Emily spreads the blanket and sits down. Jack joins her immediately, eyes fixed on the bag of bird seed, and Hotch follows. "Can you hear birds?" she asks. Jack tilts his head back, looking up at the trees and listening. He nods. "Me too. I think they're waiting for somebody to feed them."

Jack's feet wiggle in anticipation and he holds his hands out as she opens the bag. Before long he's up from the blanket, scattering seed all over. He's been cooped up for a few days at least, and he's half skipping as he walks around, giggling when the birds start to fly down from the trees. The birds are confident here, not too skittish, and if he's still enough they come pretty close to him. After a while, Emily turns to Hotch. "I hope you don't mind," she says. "I thought you might need to get out…"

He watches Jack in silence for a few more seconds, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. For the first time in days, Jack looks like the energetic, happy little boy he remembers. He's trying to do what's best for him, trying to keep it together and keep things normal, but it's been a bad few days. This is like a gift. When he turns to her, he can't meet her eyes. "Thank you."

"It's okay."

"I'm sorry I haven't been answering…"

"It's okay," she repeats. "If you want to talk, if you need a break, someone to take Jack out…"

"I know."


	8. Day 8: Thousand (Hotch, Prentiss, Jack)

**Prompt: Thousand**.

"Are you guys nearly ready?" Emily calls from the hallway.

"Nearly!" Aaron calls back. Abbie chimes in: "Nearly!" She's parroting a lot lately, and learning so many words so quickly.

Emily smiles and raises her eyebrows at Jack. "You believe him?"

"Nope."

She peers around the doorway. And her heart melts. Aaron is on the sofa with Abbie perched on his knee, and he is honest to god braiding her hair. She's only little, so it only reaches her shoulders, but he's just about successfully managed to form two tiny pigtails, and now he's clipping the flyaways back with purple clips Penelope got her for her third birthday. They even match her outfit. He turns sheepishly when he hears Emily come in. "How'd I do?"

She crouches in front of them and kisses Abbie's nose. "You look beautiful!"

"Daddy!"

"I know, I saw! Daddy did a good job."

"Mommy now."

"Oh, no chance," Emily says, laughing as she stands up and takes Abbie from Aaron's lap, shifting her onto a hip and heading for the door. "We have a soccer game to get to – we can't make your brother late."

"Sounds like an excuse to me," Aaron says slyly, tugging at the back of her hair.

She opens the front door to let Jack out to get his boots – they stay on the front step – and turns in the doorway, catching him off guard with a kiss. "I love you," she says softly.

"Oh yeah? How much?"

"Infinitely."

"What's infinitely?" Jack says, already half way down the path.

"Unimaginably big. So big it's not even a number, you can't count it."

"Big," Abbie says, nodding.

"Yeah," Emily replies. "Really really big. And you know how much I love you guys?"

Abbie wraps her arms as far around Emily as they'll go and squeezes. "A thousand!"


	9. Day 9: Winter (Hotch, Prentiss)

**Prompt: Winter.**

He's driving slowly – she can't have gone far, and he has a feeling he knows what she'd be drawn to, but it's late, and dark, and the snow is falling thick and fast and he can barely see anything. He slows more when he reaches a church – if she's stopped anywhere, it'll be here, and sure enough there's a slender, dark figure just standing outside. He pulls over and gets out, pulling the lapels of his coat up to shield him a little more from the biting cold. He wonders how long she's been standing here – she must be freezing. When he gets close enough, he reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder, turns her slowly toward him. She looks like she's expecting him to yell at her, and he feels horrible, and then he sees the blood. "What happened?" he says, inspecting the rest of her face for bruising or swelling, but apart from being a little red around the eyes, she looks just the way she did when he left her. Except the blood trickling from her nose to her lips.

She brings a hand up to touch the blood and then drops it again. "I don't know," she says, keeping her eyes down. "It's nothing."

He doesn't know what to say – he'd never seen her looking as lost as she did when she showed up in his office to tell him about Matthew, and she's there again, wherever that place is. "Do you want to go inside?" he says, nodding to the church. "I'll wait for you, if you want to be alone."

She shakes her head, still not looking at him.

"Then let me drive you home."

"Why are you here?" she says quietly. A pretty big part of her really did expect to get fired.

"Because it's freezing. Because I never got a chance to tell you that you were right and I'm sorry. I was trying to protect all of us, but I should have been protecting you." She looks up, searching his face. It's genuine - he's really asking her forgiveness. "I'm sorry," he says again. "Please let me drive you home. Before the weather gets too bad."

She nods once and wraps her arms around herself, huddling against the snow as they head for the SUV. He steps closer to her, wraps an arm around her shoulders because she looks so sad and small, and this is not the Emily Prentiss he's used to. He half expects her to push him away, but she stops, turns toward him and rests her forehead on his shoulder, her hands between them, gripping the lapels of his coat. Surprised, he holds her there, spreading gloved hands out over her back, keeping her close, resting his chin on her head as the snow falls around them.


	10. Day 10: Companion (Hotch, Prentiss)

**Prompt: Companion.**

When he opens the door he smells of whisky, and it startles her – it's a smell she associates not with him but with someone else, with a past she's supposed to have buried. She _has_ buried it, except for scent memories. She hasn't figured out how to get rid of those yet. So she's a little on edge when she comes inside and it takes him turning to her when they sit on the sofa to bring her back. He looks lost – he's letting the vulnerability show on his face, and she finds herself glancing around for the bottle, trying to figure out how much he's had.

"You okay?" she asks. She knows it's a stupid question, but they have to start somewhere.

"I can't keep doing nothing," he says. His voice is lower than normal, and a little rough around the edges, but he's not exactly slurring.

"You're not. We're not doing nothing. We haven't stopped looking for him, Hotch, and we'll get a break. I promise."

"You can't promise."

"Watch me," she says fiercely. "We won't let him win."

He looks down, the floor swimming just a little, the bitter taste in his mouth telling him he's had enough to drink. He knows he shouldn't have more but he kind of wants to. If he offers her a drink too, it won't look so bad… He's just opening his mouth to offer when he feels her hand on his back. It feels warm and soft and strong and it feels like an awfully long time since anybody actually touched him. It occurs to him instantly how sad that is, and he feels himself lean back a little into her touch.

She feels it, and starts tracing her hand up and down his back, trying to figure out how bad it is. He's not swaying, so he's probably right on that edge between _quite enough_ and _too much_. He's letting her touch him, even leaning into it, and he's not doing the mask thing – at least not right now. This is a sign somewhere between good and bad. He'd never choose it, but it's a lot easier to deal with than totally closed off. "Hotch?" she says softly.

He lifts his head up with great effort and turns to her.

"Is there something I can do?"

He hesitates, then does what some dim, distant part of his brain knows he shouldn't. He reaches out and tugs her gently toward him. She wraps her arms around him and he clings to her, looking up and blinking away tears. He lets himself relax a little into the feel of her, spreading his hands over her back. She feels so strong and lithe and small, and she's holding him so fiercely, and he knows he shouldn't be thinking he never wants to let her go… After a while, she shifts them, lying down on the sofa and pulling him with her so his head is on her chest. She combs her fingers through his hair, knowing this touch is more intimate than it really should be, but also that he needs it. He needs to feel held and protected and cared for. She won't leave him all on his own with this. And he's holding on with a drowning grip. "Hey. You're not alone, you know? I'm right here."


	11. Day 11: Future (Hotch, Prentiss)

**Prompt: Future**

"Dad?"

Aaron and Emily look up at the same time – Abbie's voice is hesitant, hopeful. She's standing in the kitchen doorway in cut-off denim shorts and a baseball shirt, shuffling a little. Emily looks her over and bites the inside of her cheek – if that shirt belongs to her daughter, she'd be very surprised, and she has a funny feeling she knows roughly what this is going to be about.

"Um. I've got a, um… Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," he says, dropping the newspaper he was reading onto the table and flattening it.

"Okay. Don't freak out."

Emily looks down at the table, trying desperately not to smirk, and pulls the newspaper toward her for something to do.

"No promises," Aaron says flatly. "What do you want to ask?"

"There's a dance coming up in school. A fundraiser for the um. The baseball team." Emily grins down at the newspaper and Abbie determinedly avoids looking at her, fixing her gaze on a point just below her father's eyes as she continues. "And somebody asked me to go with them. As, like. A date. And I'd really like to go."

Emily could swear she hears his heart drop to the floor. She glances at him – he just looks stunned – and then looks at their daughter. She picked up her nervous habits from Emily – she's chewing her lip, her thumbs hooked in the pockets of her shorts to stop herself from messing up her nails, because her friend just painted them for her last night.

"So… Um… It's three weeks from now, Friday night, and…" She trails off, looking at Emily for support. She smiles reassuringly. She's a good, sensible fifteen-year-old, pretty much the antithesis of Emily at her age, so she deserves their trust, and Emily reminds Aaron of that regularly.

He nods slowly. "Okay," he says. "Yeah. That's… Invite them over for dinner after school some time this week, and…"

Abbie grins, relaxing so visibly it's like she's shrunk several inches. "Thank you!" She comes over and kisses his cheek then sits half way in his lap to hug him. He closes his eyes and holds her there for a few seconds before saying, "Don't thank me yet. Nobody said I won't be armed."

She laughs, and when she straightens up Emily is waiting for her. She pulls her into a hug, whispering, "Nice shirt." She can practically feel her blushing. Smiling, she messes up her hair as she steps back. "You should tell your brother – I bet he'll want to come home for this."

Abbie groans, combing her fingers through her hair. Jack is protective, he always has been. But she doesn't really mind, she just pretends to. And she misses him, so she gets out her phone. "I'm on it."

She leaves the room looking considerably happier than when she came in, and Emily turns to Aaron, takes his hand and turns it over, tracing patterns on his palm. "How old are we now – like a hundred and eight?" she says.

"Something like that," he replies, capturing her fingers and kissing the back of her hand. "I love you, sweetheart."

* * *

_I realise Abbie is coming up a lot - I just can't resist now that I've started writing the sequel to_ In the Dark_, and yeah_..._  
_


	12. Day 12: Knowledge (Hotch, JJ)

**Prompt: Knowledge.**

JJ comes into his office without knocking and sits down with her elbows on the desk and her head in her hands. He doesn't say anything until she looks up at him with her jaw set and tears in her eyes. "I know," he says. He glances out at the bullpen – the sight of the empty desk gnaws at the pit in his stomach, and the sight of Reid and Seaver staring blankly at their screens isn't any better. It's a bad day for them, and he can't help but wonder what set them off.

"Is this what it was like the whole time I was gone?" He doesn't answer, and she shakes her head. "How do we…"

"We remember all the reasons we had no other choice, and we remind ourselves this was the only way to keep her safe."

"You make that sound so easy."

"It isn't."

"I know."

She drops her head into her hands again, running her fingers through her hair. Her coming back has been a double edged sword for both of them. It's good to have somebody around who understands the weight of the knowledge they're carrying around, but it also means there's no avoiding it. They both try to compartmentalise it away, but if one of them slips it's back for both of them.

"I miss her, Hotch."

"I do too," he says, and she looks up to meet his eyes. Not for the first time, she wonders whether he and Emily ever got the chance to act on the feelings she's long suspected between them. He holds her gaze for a few seconds then looks down at his hands. "How's Reid?"

"He came to my place again last night. He's… Barely coping."

"How bad?"

She knows what he means. "Nothing like that."

He nods. "I'm sorry you have to… I'm sorry." He wishes he could take some of that burden from her, but the chances of Reid showing up at his door for someone to cry on when he's upset are pretty slim. He's never been that person. He tries to lead his team by example like Gideon told him he should, but he knows he's not the best example, and he knows he makes himself unapproachable. Not to Emily, though. She always came to him… He catches himself and looks down again, clearing his throat.

"I'm sorry too," JJ says softly, seeing his mask crack. He looks up and she smiles sadly. "She's safe, Hotch. She's doing okay."

He closes his eyes and swallows. She's not even really supposed to tell him that much. "Thank you."

She nods. "Are you okay?"

He hesitates. "I… We're doing the right thing."


	13. Day 13: Flame (Hotch, Prentiss)

**Prompt: Flame.**

He can see that she's slipping away. She's started declining invitations and offers to do things with people. She's renting an apartment she doesn't particularly like, and has stopped looking at property ads. And she looks sadder, more guarded and distant. He knows they might lose her, that _he_ might lose her, and he knows this time she won't be back. So finally his fear of losing her for good outweighs his fear of rejection, and he catches her in the parking lot after work. He calls out her name and she turns, waits for him to reach her.

"Hotch?" She's wary, he realises, and it's heartbreaking.

"I'm going to talk, and I want to know you'll stop me if you're uncomfortable."

She looks him over – he's worried, verging on panic, and she nods.

"Let me take you someplace for a couple of days." Her eyebrows shoot up, and he rushes on. "Just think about it. You need to get away. You feel… Like nowhere is safe any more, or nowhere is comfortable, and it's getting harder to hold on to yourself. You're lonely, and that's confusing because your best friends are all right here." She swallows, looks down. If she was going to bring up the no profiling each other rule, now would be the time, but she doesn't. "I know you're thinking about leaving. Let me take you somewhere you'll feel safe. Gideon felt like this after he came back from leave, he used to go to this cabin -"

"Until a head got delivered there," she says, and she can't help the smile on her lips. "Bad example."

He smiles back. "I understand if you don't want to," he says. "But I -"

"Hotch -"

"Aaron," he corrects hesitantly, watching closely for her reaction.

She smiles and steps closer, resting a hand on his arm just as tentatively. "Aaron. I need to know what you're asking."

"I'm asking…" Words fail him and he closes the remaining distance between them, brings a hand up to her face and brushes his fingertips softly, slowly over her cheekbone. Her eyes flutter shut and her chin tilts up, and when their lips meet he feels her relax into him, her hands settling behind his neck.

They find a cabin. She pours the wine and he gets the fire going. They pull an armchair as close as they can without turning this whole thing into one big fire hazard, and pile into it together. She cuddles into him and closes her eyes, and for the first time in just about as long as she can remember she lets herself just be held. It changes everything. His fingers brush through her hair, up and down her back, and she's so relaxed she actually cries. For the first time since Doyle escaped from prison, she feels like she's stopped running. "I want this," she tells him. "I don't want to leave." He pulls her onto his lap and they kiss, the taste of the wine on their lips and the crackling heat from the fire making the whole thing feel a little unreal. Hands slide under clothes, shirts are discarded on the floor, and by the warm, flickering light of the flame, scars are traced and confessions are made, and when she wakes up in the morning with his arm thrown over her waist, she remembers what it means to be home.


	14. Day 14: Move (Hotch, Prentiss)

**Prompt: Move.**

The moving in is gradual, and then not. There's a shift toward the domesticated – suddenly his bathroom has face creams in it, and the sight makes his heart beat a little harder in the morning. He forces himself to stay offhand and casual as he gives her keys to his house one day, and she forces herself to accept them with nothing more than a smile and a kiss on the cheek, and then he goes to his office and she goes to her desk and they can't wipe the smiles off their faces. She'll wait for him after she's finished at the office if he won't be long, but if he has a lot left to do, she goes back to his place and hangs out with Jack and Jessica. Before long, the two women are friends, and Jessica will leave Jack with her without a second thought. Hotch tells Jack he can have anything he wants for dinner on his birthday, and after making his requests he says, "Emily's coming, right? I want Emily to come." She still goes home every now and then, though, because she doesn't want to push him and he doesn't want to push her, and neither of them want to push Jack.

And then there's a few hellish weeks with cases almost back to back, and they only get a few nights at home and she spends them all with him. And when they _finally_ get home with a few days off promised, Jack is waiting up for them in his pyjamas. He hugs Hotch then wraps his arms around Emily's hips while she's still hanging up her coat. She laughs and crouches down to hug him properly. Jessica nudges Hotch. "When are you going to ask her to move in?" she whispers.

And when he does, it's easy. They're lying in bed, her head on his chest and his fingers languidly toying with her hair. She's breathing slowly and deeply, and he thinks she might be asleep until she taps her fingers a little on his chest. "What's wrong?" she says sleepily.

"Nothing, sweetheart. I'm okay."

"Then what are you thinking about?" She knows there's something – it's in the tension of his muscles, the way the hand resting over hers on his chest can't quite keep still.

He's still and silent so long she wonders if she'll have to tell him nobody falls asleep that fast.

"Emily?"

"Mm?"

"Move in with me."

"Okay."

"Really?"

"Really."

She yawns and he holds her closer, kisses the top of her head. "We'll talk in the morning."

"Goodnight Aaron."

The next morning, they tell Jack that Emily's going to move in. His brow furrows. "I thought Emily already moved in."


	15. Day 15: Haze (Hotch, Prentiss)

**Prompt: Haze.**

There was pain before, but it's fading now. The light is fading too, and the voices around her, and she's starting to feel cold. There's a panic settling over her because she feels like she's doing all she can to keep breathing, but it doesn't seem to be enough – there's a burning ache creeping into her chest. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knows these are bad signs, but she can't think about that. She just has to _hold on_. That's what he keeps saying, sometimes like he's giving her an order and sometimes like he doesn't think she can hear him, like he's saying it to himself.

Something that feels cold and smells clinical settles over her mouth and nose, and then there's the sensation of being lifted, and the pain comes back in a quick wave – she wishes they'd be gentler. When she's put back down, there's a bang that makes her panic for a second, before her underoxygenated brain works out it's the ambulance doors closing. Ambulance. Good sign.

Hands close around hers and she strains to keep listening to his voice. She hears bits and pieces of what's going on – sometimes the EMT will ask a question, and then nothing, and then she'll hear him speak, and then nothing… She fights hard against the darkness. A gloved finger lifts her eyelids up one at a time and shines a light into them, and the voice that belongs to the finger says something she doesn't catch. But it makes the hands around hers squeeze tighter, and she hopes she squeezes back – she's trying.

"She's still responsive. Keep talking to her, you're doing great."

He squeezes her hand and feels her fingers twitch a little. Something in his chest leaps – she's still there. His hands are covered in her blood but they're not far from the hospital and she's still in there. "Emily! That's it, sweetheart. Just hold on…" He hears himself say it, feels the desperate wish he'd held her hand before this moment, and doesn't even bother over-thinking it because she's still in there.

_Sweetheart?_ That's it, she's probably dead. Aaron Hotchner did not just call her sweetheart. But she can still feel his hands around hers, and he's still talking, and he still keeps telling her to _hold on_, so she does.

When she wakes, it's so bright it hurts her eyes before she even opens them. The pain is back, but it's dull, weirdly far away. And it doesn't hurt to breathe. She lifts her hand to her face, feels the oxygen mask there, and tries to pull it off. A hand closes around her wrist, the mask is back on her face, and his voice is there again. "You're going to want to keep that on." She looks up at him, trying to blink away the hazy halo around him. He's smiling, she can see that much. "It's the painkillers," he tells her gently.

"Hotch?" She's somehow managing to both croak and slur, and there's a faint hint of embarrassment somewhere in the back of her mind, but she has a pressing question to ask.

"Yes?"

"Did you…" Her eyes are already closing and her voice has dropped to a mumble, but she has to know. "Did you call me sweetheart?"


	16. Day 16: Diamond (Morgan, Garcia)

**Prompt: Diamond.**

She's on edge before he even picks her up. He's been secretive, a little smug and a little nervous, which would be a bizarre combination from anyone but Derek. She can't help but be reminded of Kevin the week before he planned to propose, and she's beyond nervous, because she doesn't do marriage, not even for him. They put off getting into this for so long because they didn't want to ruin what they had, and if anything is going to ruin what they have it's this and she is _freaking out_…

But it's Valentine's Day, and she knows there's a big chance she's just being paranoid, so when he picks her up she gives him a twirl and he pulls her in for a kiss and for a moment she's convinced she's been overthinking it. Until he says, "Come on, you, it's almost time for dinner and I got you a present."

Dread has settled fully into her stomach by the time they pull up at their destination. "This is your house," she says.

He raises his eyebrows. The house is intentional – they like going out together but he knows she prefers intimate dates, just the two of them. And he wants to give her a perfect night. He doesn't mention her tone, just goes around to her door and opens it, offers her his arm. She can't help smiling as she hooks her hand into his elbow. Even full of anxiety, she's still head over heels, and when she rests her head on his shoulder and he presses a kiss to her hair she feels okay again.

And then he opens the front door and there's soft lighting and flowers everywhere – not roses, she doesn't do roses – and she doesn't know what to think. "Derek – I – it's beautiful," she says, and realises too late her voice sounds kind of dejected.

He sighs turns her gently around by the shoulders to face him. "Okay, something's up – what is it?"

"I – nothing. Except – I love you, you know that, right? And I love _this_, just the way it is and I don't want anything to -"

"Whoa, okay. I love you too. What are you -?"

"You're being all weird and there are flowers everywhere and you -"

"Penelope, it's Valentine's Day. You like flowers."

"I _know_, but you've been… And I… Derek Morgan if you do anything to mess this up I will personally set fire to a single shoe from all of your favourite pairs." He smiles, only just containing a laugh, and she can't help smiling back because his dimples are adorable. She looks at him pleadingly, settling her hands on his chest. "I just don't want -"

"Okay, I think I know what's wrong," he says. "I think I know what we can do to fix this."

"Yeah?" she says, hope filling her voice as she takes a step back.

He runs a thumb over her cheek. "Give me a minute."

By the time he comes back she's worked herself up again. He knows how much this stuff terrifies her, it's not just that she _doesn't do commitment_, it gets her all died up inside even thinking about it and if he thinks he can fix that with a r-

It's a bowl. He's back and he's carrying a bowl. A little white one with pawprints on it. And a collar. "Hold these," he says, depositing them in her hands and going off the other way, up the stairs. She takes them without a word and just stares after him. When he comes back again, she actually laughs, almost squeals with delight as she holds her arms out toward the little ginger and white cat in his arms. "I found her in one of the places I'm restoring," he says, handing her over. "The vet thinks she's about a year old. I put up signs, but nobody…" He's pretty sure Penelope isn't listening any more, just cooing at the purring kitten in her arms. "I know you miss Sergio," he shrugs.

"I get to name, her, right?"

"Of course you do," he says, smiling, privately hoping she doesn't go for Captain Fluffywhiskers or something, because he doesn't think he can handle going into a store and getting that engraved on a collar.

"Then in honour of my fear of commitment and my nevertheless romantic white knight -" She nuzzles the cat's head as she adds "- and her _adorable sparkly eyes_ – I am naming her Diamond."


	17. Day 17: Prepared (Prentiss, JJ)

JJ sprints up the path and lets herself in, and finds Emily sitting stiffly on the sofa, eyes closed and jaw clenched, one hand gripping the arm of the sofa and one settled on her stomach. "How long?" she asks.

Emily drops her chin to her chest. "Since early this morning," she says, her voice tense with pain. "Still – oh god."

"It's okay," JJ says, sitting down on the arm of the sofa. "Tell me later. Try leaning forward, this might help."

She does, and JJ rubs her lower back in firm, slow circles. It helps a little, and she concentrates hard on her breathing. Finally, it subsides, and she exhales slowly, trying to keep herself under control. She's been on the edge of tears for hours, and eventually called JJ because she couldn't handle being alone any more. "Still pretty far apart," she finishes, sitting back up. "Thanks – that did help."

JJ smiles, settling a hand on her shoulder, and Emily grabs it and holds on like it's a lifeline. She smiles and squeezes. "I called Hotch. He lands in just under three hours. You could've called me sooner, Em, I want to be here."

Emily lets out another slow breath, clutching JJ's hand and rubbing her bump. He has to get here on time. She's terrified of doing this without him. She's pretty terrified of doing it at all, if she's completely honest. "I'm not ready," she mutters, feeling pathetic for saying it out loud.

JJ slides down onto the sofa beside her and wraps an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her arm. "It's almost time to meet your baby," she says quietly. "It's exciting."

"But I… I'm…" Tears are really threatening now, because it hurts and because she's scared and she wants him here, and she turns awkwardly, feeling gigantic, burying her head in JJ's shoulder.

She _should _feel ready, she doesn't know what's wrong with her. The team helped her decorate the baby's room weeks ago. She's read a stack of pregnancy and parenting books, she's been to all the classes, she already has a closet full of tiny clothes, and a ridiculous supply of diapers and a chest of sensory toys under the crib. Jack is excited and Aaron is excited and she has her hospital bag packed and waiting by the door. And she loves this baby, has loved it for months, and can't quite get her head around the idea that this is it, it's nearly time. But she does not feel ready.

"I don't think anyone ever feels _ready_," JJ murmurs, smoothing her hair. "But you're prepared."


	18. Day 18: Promise (Hotch, Prentiss)

**Prompt: Promise.**

He stands in the doorway for a few seconds trying to swallow the lump in his throat. She looks so very broken, and he knows it could be worse, he knows how close she came to death. He sat with her in the ambulance and had her hand in his when she flatlined, so he knows this could be worse. But that does nothing to lift the weight of pain and guilt and despair settling in his stomach. He goes to sit by her bed, his hands twisting together on his lap. He can't believe he has to do this. He's not ready for this. There's so much he should have done, so much he should have told her, and now he can't, because it wouldn't be fair.

Her eyes open slowly, and he stands up. "Emily."

She turns her head toward him and her hand twitches a little at her side, like she can't decide whether to reach for him. He slides his hand over hers, and she closes her eyes, clenching her jaw as she squeezes his fingers.

"JJ told you Doyle's in the wind?" he says, his voice tense with the effort to keep it steady.

She nods and presses her lips together. When she opens her eyes to meet his they're both tearing up, and neither of them mention it. "Yeah."

"I'm so sorry." His voice gets away from him a little, and looks down at their hands. "We'll get him, I p-"

She squeezes his hand again and shakes her head. "Don't promise."

"We -"

"I know you're good, Hotch. But he's good too, and he has no oath to stick to. I – just… Don't promise." She chews her lip to hold back tears. The thing is she trusts him too much. If he promises, she'll believe him, and she doesn't know if she can handle hoping.

He nods. "We'll do everything we can."

"I know."

"You're going to be okay, Emily. You're the strongest person I-"

He stops abruptly because there's no way he can finish that without breaking down, and she's shaking, her hand trembling in his. He brushes a hand up and down her arm – one of those things he's always wanted to do when she was shaken up but always told himself he couldn't. He still shouldn't, not now, not when he'll probably never see her again. There's so much he wants to say. Eventually, he says, "Stay safe."

She nods, clutching his hand. "I promise."


	19. Day 19: Denial (Prentiss, Rossi)

**Prompt: Denial.**

She's driving to distract herself. She and Rossi have just done a prison interview, and the guy wouldn't quit leering at her and using her first name. She still feels slimy. She likes driving. It helps her compartmentalise.

"You okay?" Rossi says after a while, keeping his eyes on his notes. She's easier to read when she's driving, and he doesn't want to make her feel any more exposed.

"It just reminds me I need to get out more, you know?" she says dryly. "When the only guys who hit on me are sexual sadists."

Rossi raises his eyebrows, finding it hard to believe people don't hit on Emily Prentiss. "You've got a lot going for you."

She snorts and doesn't bother replying. If only he could see her on dates. She has nowhere near the same confidence once the badge is off, when the way her brain makes connections is more likely to get her into trouble than get her results. She's awkward Emily, who always says the wrong thing and never quite knows what to do with her feet.

"Maybe you're just looking in the wrong places," he suggests.

She shrugs. "I'm not looking, exactly. Most of my dates are a bust before they even get started – I know they're not my type." She pauses, glancing over. "My mother says I have impossible standards."

"And do you?"

"Maybe," she admits. "Someone who can handle my job is a big enough ask, without…"

"Without?" he prompts.

She shrugs again, unsure whether it's a good idea to articulate what it is she's looking for. The thing is she's had her eyes on someone for a long time, can't get them off him in fact, and he sets kind of an impossible standard. "I don't know. Empathetic. Smart. Funny, in a quiet way. Inner nerd a bonus. Kind of intense, in everything."

"Sounds a little like someone I know," he says, amusement tingeing his voice, and she knows she's caught.

"Are you going to introduce us?" she replies, maintaining her poker face, doing her level best to ignore the way her heart has sped up in her chest.

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary, do you?"

She's fighting a blush, glad he isn't looking at her. They're quiet for a little longer, then he says, "It's not a bad idea, you know."

"What do you mean?" she says, doing what feels like a passable job of sounding like the conversation has slipped her mind.

He shakes his head, eyes still on his notes. "Denial is a strange look on you, Emily."


	20. Day 20: Look (Hotch, Prentiss, Team)

**Prompt: Look.**

It took a lot of cajoling – mainly from Garcia – to get him to come out with the team. Since signing his divorce papers he's spent his evenings at home alone with case files. Or at home alone with scotch. So honestly although he spends the majority of his days with the team and probably knows them better than he's ever known anyone, he feels a little awkward when they arrive at the bar. He just hasn't done a lot of socialising recently.

Not that he did before, really. It just feels more pathetic now.

But Rossi buys the first round and they settle down, and they start talking and messing around and for a while he just lets himself sit back and absorb it. It's been a bad case, and he can see that they need this, that even he needs this. He can see the weight starting to lift from their shoulders, and before he knows what's happening he's smiling, laughing even. His mind still feels irretrievably dark, but some of the cloud is lifting. Slowly, the team start to disappear onto the dance floor – it turns out Reid has rhythm and can pretty much keep up with Garcia – and he and Rossi are left manning the table and guarding the drinks.

They're subdued for a while, just watching, and eventually Rossi says, "Helps to be reminded the bad days can end, doesn't it?"

He glances over at him, then back to the team on the floor. Emily is spinning JJ under her arm, Garcia and Reid are doing something weird and synchronised, and Morgan is weaving back from the bar with a drink in each hand. They're flushed and laughing, and they could not look more different to the way they did the past few days, staring at mutilated bodies and pursuing dead end after dead end, knowing the clock was ticking on the most recent victim, becoming gradually more determined and detached. The longer a case like that goes on, the more he sees himself in his team. He tries not to think too hard about that.

"Yeah," he says eventually. "It does."

He goes to the bar to get them another drink, and he's leaning there waiting when he feels a hand brush his elbow. He knows it's Emily before he looks, because nobody else touches him, and she's been doing it more and more often. He smiles as he turns, and then his breath catches somewhere in his throat. Her cheeks are flushed and she looks radiant, dark eyes sparkling as she smiles back at him, and her hand is still resting at his elbow. She looks so completely, genuinely happy, and it's breathtaking. He breaks eye contact reluctantly, saying, "Can I get you a drink?" as he turns back to the bar.

She shakes her head, leans against the bar beside him with her body angled toward him. He can't help it – he looks at her, and she tilts her head. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

She raises her eyebrows, and he smiles and drops his eyes. It's just a look. Except it isn't. It's her whole body radiating genuine happiness after a week of carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and her eyes boring into him with real concern, determinedly looking through the fog clouding his thoughts. She's beautiful – of course she is, he's been aware of that for a long time. But never more than this moment, and it hits him so hard he can't look at her.


	21. Day 21: Beginning (Hotch, Prentiss)

**Prompt: Beginning.**

"Clyde offered you a job with Interpol?"

"Yeah." She pauses, stirring her coffee with unnecessary concentration. "Running the London gateway office."

_Oh_. He's silent a little too long, trying to form an appropriate congratulatory remark. "I – Emily – that's a great opportunity."

"I know," she says flatly.

"You'd be great at it."

"Yeah."

She neither sounds nor looks like a woman about to accept a gigantic promotion. "You don't want to go?" he says, tilting his head to try to catch her eyes. She doesn't look up, just keeps stirring.

"It's – it's not that simple."

"Emily, what's wrong?" The word _sweetheart_ is on the tip of his tongue, as it has been a thousand times before, and he catches it just in time.

"I don't… I don't want to stay here, like this. I'm suffocating, Hotch. Something has to change." She lets out a slow breath, knowing it's her tell and knowing he knows. She drags her eyes up to his, and he's looking at her so intensely it sends a painful jolt through her. He's reading her. He's going to see straight through her, and she doesn't know whether that makes this better or worse

"What can I do?" he says, sliding his hand across the table toward her. He knew there was something going on, but he's starting to realise it's worse than he thought. She's a mess. "Emily, are you okay?"

She's got his hand in both of hers before she knows what she's doing, chewing her lip and shaking her head. "My gun is never out of my reach," she admits softly, looking down at their hands. "I… sit in corners." She jerks her head toward the wall behind her. "I don't go anywhere I used to go in DC except the BAU, and I stay up until all hours because I'm afraid of even the idea of nightmares. I don't feel safe, ever. When Will was wired and I really thought I was about to blow up, I realised I didn't feel any more panicked than usual. I'm suffocating," she repeats, and she can feel it, her throat tightening and the panic rising in her chest. "I can't do it," she says, her voice not as strong as she'd like. "I can't stay."

"But you don't want to go either."

Her eyes fill with tears and she stares down at their hands, noticing too late how hard she's squeezing. "No," she breathes, releasing her grip a little.

He shakes his head, folds his hands over hers and squeezes. "Emily… The suffocating feeling is PTSD."

She nods. She knows. That's why she isn't jumping at this opportunity – it_is _an amazing opportunity, and DC doesn't feel like home any more, so it looks like a no brainer. Except DC is the only place that ever really _did_ feel like home, the only place she's ever felt like she really had a family, and it felt like this was forever, like she'd settled here. A real home, with a life and friends. Until Doyle. She knows this is about him, and no matter how good the job, she doesn't want to let him uproot her again. But how is she supposed to stay, afraid of everything?

"You can do therapy again," Hotch says quietly. "Take some time off, if you need to. If you don't want to stay in the BAU, you know I'll give you a great recommendation. Strauss too – it might be carefully worded, but it'll be good, because _you're_ good." She looks up at him through her eyelashes and smiles a little. "I – I just want you to be happy, Emily. If you think London will do that, then…"

"Aaron."

He stops, his eyes widening a little. She's never called him that before. It sounds kind of wonderful. "Yes?"

"I – thank you." She turns his hand over, traces shapes on his palm. "If I… If I left the BAU…"

He tilts his head, waiting for her to go on, but she doesn't, just looks up at him through her eyelashes again, a slow blush spreading on her cheeks. It hits him when she pulls her lip between her teeth, and he hopes to god he's not wrong as he says, "Would you like to have dinner with me some time?"

"Yes," she says, without missing a beat, then laughs. He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles, and she adds, "I'm a mess, Aaron. I have a lot of stuff I need to – I'm not asking you to commit to -"

"Emily."

"Yeah?"

"I know." She smiles, and he squeezes her hand, nods toward the door. "You want to go for a walk?"

She nods, and he drops a couple of bills on the table and wraps his arm around her shoulders, and they leave together.


	22. Day 22: Letters (Prentiss, Team)

**Prompt: Letters**.

It starts with Rossi. He remembers what she said, years ago, about missing getting real mail from real people. He knows she prefers handwritten, but he writes ridiculously slowly, and figures it's the thought that counts, so he goes for an old typewriter – an antique he spent some of his first 'bestselling author' money on. He tells her about the team, about Blake, and asks about London and Interpol, and gives her his best new job pep talk. He signs it, and then just before he seals the envelope he chuckles and adds an autographed photo of himself.

She recognises his handwriting on the envelope instantly, and she makes herself dinner before opening it, because it's been a long day and her stomach is growling. In a fit of nostalgia, she makes the pasta he taught them to make, even finds a bottle of the same wine in her cooler, and opens the letter at the table while she eats. The photo falls out and she nearly chokes on her pasta, laughing as she props it up opposite her at the table. She reads his letter with tears in her eyes, and stays up far too late writing back – _hand _writing, of course, because she's stubborn.

She's about to seal the envelope when she glances over at the end table, where she's got a framed photo of the team from JJ's wedding. She leaves the envelope unsealed, and leaves early in the morning to buy postcards – pigeons wearing monocles for Garcia, London cityscape for JJ, old English steam train for Reid. She lingers over Hotch's, too long for someone who should be at work, and eventually goes for the London eye. She buys one for Blake too, a kind of generic one because she doesn't actually know her, and every time she gets a few free minutes that day she spends time writing them and embellishing. She adds a feather boa to one of the pigeons, circles the approximate location of her favourite shoe store for JJ, draws a terrible rendition of Sherlock Holmes on top of Reid's train, and three smiling faces inside one of the pods on Hotch's. On the back of everyone's cards she writes that she has a spare room and her sofas pull out and they're welcome to visit.

Hotch calls to make sure she means it, and when she gets their replies – a whole package of letters, plus a couple of bars of Hershey's and a knitted scarf from Garcia – there's a photo of Hotch and Jack, matching dark eyes smiling up at her. There's a 'PTO' in the corner, so she flips the photo, and Jack's big round handwriting is on the back: 'See you soon' and ten kisses. She calls Hotch instantly, throwing time zones to the wind – she doesn't even care that she's clearly woken him up when he answers. "You're coming?"

"Yeah," he replies sleepily, and the smile in his voice makes her heart flutter. "Jack has a school holiday coming up, and I haven't taken any personal days in…"

"A while," she supplies, barely containing her grin. "I can't wait to see you guys."

"We miss you," he says, reminding her that he really is still half asleep – fully conscious Hotch definitely wouldn't have said that.

"Miss you too," she replies softly, her voice as steady as she can get it. "Sorry I called so um… Early? Late? Go back to sleep."

"I'll call you in the morning," he promises. "Jack too. Goodnight sweetheart."


	23. Day 23: Formal (Hotch, Prentiss, Jack)

**Prompt: Formal.**

Emily grits her teeth as she tugs at the side zipper on her dress. It's a deep blue silk structured thing that fits her so perfectly it's a nightmare to get into but looks pretty killer once it's on. She loves it, and usually she likes an excuse to get all dressed up. But she has never quite grown out of resenting having to do it to please her mother.

"You look beautiful," Aaron says, appearing in the bedroom doorway and leaning against the frame.

"I look annoyed," she corrects, staring at herself in the mirror.

He smiles, comes to her side and slides a hand down her side, from breast to hip, and helps her with the last bit of the zipper. "Also beautiful," he insists, and she smiles, turns and tucks herself into him.

He wanders around in the background getting dressed while she does her makeup. "I don't understand," she says, applying eyeliner to the edge of her lower lashes, "why she still insists I come to these things."

"You're her daughter," he says automatically, then pauses, catches her glare in the mirror. "And also now you come with kids she can show off."

She rolls her eyes, and right on cue Abbie calls from down the hall: 'Mama?'

"Looks like nap time's over," he says, tucking in his shirt. "You want me to get her?"

"It's okay, I'm almost ready. And you'll do the bow on her dress squint." He rolls his eyes as she leaves, and her head appears in the doorway again a couple of seconds later, smiling. "But you're forgiven, because I suck worse at ties."

He takes the hint – he heads for Jack's room while she heads for Abbie's, reaches into the crib and picks her up. A familiar glowing warmth settles over her when the little body curls into her, head on her shoulder. She kisses her daughter's hair as she carries her down the hall back to their room, murmuring, "Going to get you all dressed up, sweetheart."

"Why?" Abbie says sleepily.

"Excellent question," Emily mutters, then drops Abbie onto their bed on her back, tickling her as she giggles. "_Because _grandma is having a party. So it's time to wake up."

"Wake," Abbie repeats through giggles. "Mama!"

Emily smiles and sits down on the bed with her. "Okay, okay. I'm done tickling." She reaches across her for the dress Aaron has picked out. "Dress time."

When he's done fixing Jack's tie and tucking his shirt in – and trading Jack's request to please not wear the three piece with his own request that Jack please comb his hair – he comes back and stands in the doorway again. He watches Abbie kicking her feet against the side of the bed and singing as Emily ties the bow on the back of the red dress. They are so perfect his throat aches. And when Jack comes to join them, his tie already off to one side again, he ruffles his hair affectionately, and Jack sighs at him, sits down cross-legged in front of the mirror and starts combing again.


	24. Day 24: Order (Hotch, Prentiss)

**Prompt: Order.**

"I ordered you not to go in there alone," he says, his voice dangerously low and quiet. He's looming over her as she sits on the back of an ambulance, very aware his hands are at his eye level so he has to keep them still. He's seen her watch them when they argue – they're his tell.

She hisses as the paramedic does something that makes the gash in her head sting more, biting down on her lip. She opens her eyes slowly and meets Hotch's. "I know," she says. He's looking back at her steadily, his poker face so solid it's practically a glare, and her stomach twists with guilt. "I'm sorry. I know you wanted me to wait, but if I had, somebody would have died." She closes her eyes as the world starts swimming in front of her, a wave of pain hitting her. "I can live with this," she says firmly. "I couldn't have lived with that."

He keeps his eyes on hers, burning into her. He would have done the same thing, but that doesn't make this okay. "It was an order."

"I know. And I understand if you – ow, god – if you want to -"

The paramedic pauses and turns to Hotch. "Can this wait?" she says, in a way that doesn't really leave him any room to say no.

He nods once, turns and goes back to where the rest of the team stand waiting. Emily watches him go and lets out a slow breath.

"He's intense," the paramedic says lightly. "You're doing great, we're almost done – just one more sharp pinch…"

When she's patched up, she convinces the paramedics to let her go back to the hotel with the team as long as she promises not to fly until tomorrow. She walks back to where the rest of the team stand waiting, her head pounding with every step, and Reid pulls her into a hug. She accepts it gratefully, hugging back just as hard, burying her face in him as her hands start to shake. She feels another hand on her back and knows it's JJ's.

Hotch is the only one who doesn't come in for a hug, but he can't help brushing his hand down her back as he opens the door of the SUV for her. She climbs in and leans her head back, wincing as he gets in his side and slams the door. "Emily," he says.

"I know," she mutters, the pain in her head intensifying as the adrenaline wears off. "I know you didn't want me to, I know nothing about it was protocol, but -"

"I love you." There's something choked in his voice.

She turns to him, moving her head very slowly – apparently not slow enough to stop a fresh wave of pain from washing over her. "I love you too," she says softly, reaching over and brushing her thumb over his cheekbone. "I'm sorry I scared you. And I'm sorry I didn't follow your order. But I'm not sorry I did what I did. Does that make sense?"

He sighs, kisses her palm and starts the car. "I wish it didn't."


	25. Day 25: Restless (Hotch, Prentiss)

**Prompt: Restless.**

After Doyle, she comes home with him. JJ offered too, everyone did, but Hotch has always been the one who will let her be still and silent when she needs to. And she does need to, because she thinks she might be falling apart. He drives them to his place in silence, and when they get inside she squeezes his arm in thanks and heads straight for the guest bedroom.

"Hey," he says, as the door starts to close behind her. She opens it a little and turns back to him. "You know where I am." She nods, unfathomable sadness in her smile, and closes the door.

He changes into pyjamas and lies down, wide awake and alert, like he is when Jack is sick. It's not long before he hears her moving around. The bed creaks as she gets up, then that floorboard he's been meaning to fix right in front of the door. He hears her walk down the hall, and just as the sound of her footsteps fades, there's running water. She walks back up the hall, hesitates outside his door, then keeps going. He hears her pacing in her room, sitting down on the bed and standing back up, and a kind of muffled thump that's probably the pillow being thrown onto the bed.

He sits up, flicks on his lamp and opens a book, neither willing nor able to sleep, and he's not surprised when he hears her coming down the hall again maybe thirty minutes later. He tells her to come in and for a moment she just stands in the doorway, in flannel shorts and a tank top, her eyelids heavy. She closes the door behind her with a gentle click and comes over to perch on the edge of his bed, her body tense. He takes her hand, tracing slow circles with his thumb. "You want to sleep here?"

She doesn't say anything, just curls herself up on the bed beside him with her head on his arm, and drapes his other arm over her waist. He pulls her closer – it's not the first time they've shared a bed – and tucks the blanket around her. "I don't want to sleep," she murmurs, already drifting off, and he holds onto her, hoping against all reason that the nightmares don't hit her tonight.

It doesn't work – she wakes with a start almost as soon as she's gone to sleep and swears under her breath, her whole body shaking. He strokes her arm and whispers that she's okay and he's right here, and although he can feel her tensing and shifting, trying to keep herself awake, she's asleep again in minutes. The next time isn't so easy. She's just restless at first – he feels her muscles tense and she kicks him a little, and he holds her closer. Then there are tears on his arm and her breathing is ragged, and he shakes her awake and she turns into him, clutching his t-shirt and sobbing. "He's gone," she whispers amid sobs, and he doesn't know whether it's reassurance or despair, so he holds her and kisses the top of her head and tells her he's sorry.


	26. Day 26: Snowflake (Hotch, Prentiss)

_Note: This is a sequel to 'Letters', from Day 22, as requested by a guest commenter on that chapter. I hope you're reading this, guest, I wish I could've sent you a message to let you know I had done it! Another thank you is in order, to everyone who is reading these and commenting on them._

* * *

**Prompt: Snowflake.**

She's booked a few days off work. She's made up the guest bedroom, even got an air mattress so they can both have their own bed if they want. She's bought in a load of food. She's spoken to them almost every day since Hotch told her they were coming, warned them about the weather, told them what to pack… And she may or may not have bought new lingerie, telling herself it can't hurt to be prepared. She stands in arrivals, scanning the crowd, and she sees them a couple of seconds before they see her. She tries to use the time push back everything that bubbles up inside her, but it's too much, and Jack's arms wrap around her hips, and Hotch stands behind him, just smiling, and the lump in her throat won't go and her tears spill over before she can catch them. She ruffles Jack's hair and Hotch wraps his arms around her and holds her tight. "Hi," he whispers.

"Hi," she whispers back, settling her head on his shoulder. "Missed you."

As they walk through the airport, he wraps an arm around her waist, hating himself as much for doing it now as he does for not doing it sooner. He knows this is stupid. He knows there have been dozens of times they've nearly crossed this line, whatever it is, and now she's an ocean away and it's too late. He glances at her, making sure she's okay with his hand on her, and there's something sad and faraway in her eyes. But she leans into him a little anyway, hooks a thumb into his belt loop and squeezes his hip.

Hotch gets an exhausted Jack settled in the guest bedroom, and she's waiting on the balcony for him when he gets back, facing out toward the city with her arms wrapped around herself, snow falling around her. He pauses and just looks at her for a few seconds. This is stupid, he tells himself again. She turns round, smiling, and the flutter of his heart takes him by surprise. "Come on out," she says. "It's beautiful."

He swallows hard. _She's_ beautiful, shaking snowflakes out of her damp hair, tilting her head as she smiles at him. He used to be so much better at keeping this under control.

"You okay?"

He nods, grabs his sweater from the sofa and pulls it on before joining her on the balcony, closing the door behind him. "It is beautiful," he says, leaning against the rail, looking out at the city. It's late, lit up with city lights and snow. She settles beside him, her shoulder pressed against his, and they're silent for a few minutes. "Emily?"

"Mm?"

"You're happy here?"

She drops her head, looking down at the street. "Yeah," she says softly. "I am. I need to be here right now." He nods, because that's all he needs to hear, and she turns toward him, nudges his shoulder so he turns to her too. "I do miss you."

He closes his eyes and pulls her toward him, and she holds on tight, clutching the fabric of his sweater as his hands spread across her back. "Miss you too," he whispers.

She takes a tiny step back, just enough to look him in the eyes. There's a real smile there, she realises, and she smiles back, reaching up to brush snowflakes from his hair.


	27. Day 27: Wind (Hotch, Prentiss)

**Prompt: Wind.**

She's hesitant when she knocks the door of his hotel room. They don't share on cases, as a rule, but tonight feels like it doesn't count – they're just stuck here because of the storm. Really, the case is done. And he looked miserable when he told them to go and get some sleep, and it's too hard for her to leave him like that.

"Hey," she says, when the door opens. "Okay if I come in?"

He takes her hand and tugs her inside gently, closes the door behind her. "I told Jack we'd be home."

"Ohh." He sits down on the edge of the bed and she follows, sitting a little way behind him and tracing her hand down his spine then back up, into his hair. They're good on cases about keeping their hands off each other, but once they're alone all bets are off. They need this. She closes her eyes, listening to the wind in the trees outside, shivering with the approaching rumble of thunder as she brushes her fingers through his hair. She actually kind of likes storms, but this isn't the time to mention it. "Have you called him?"

"Yeah. He said it was okay."

"Of course he did. He understands, Aaron." She shuffles closer to him, works the knots in his neck with her fingertips. He sighs, about to protest. "He's okay."

"I know he is. I just… We don't break promises."

She comes closer again, wraps her arms around him, resting her cheek against his back. He takes her hands and kisses them. "He deserves -"

"Hey," she says firmly, although she's still nuzzling between his shoulder blades. "Don't do that."

She squeezes his shoulders and gets up, turns off the light and crawls up the bed. He's waiting there for her, his arms open. She settles against him and he holds her close. There's a slow rumble outside then a crash of thunder. She sighs contentedly, counting the seconds until the flash lights up the room for a split second. She'd rather they were at home with Jack, of course. She misses him, thinks the warm weight of him nestled against them on the sofa, maybe under a blanket, would make this perfect, and she resolves to do it the next time they have a storm at home.

"Love you," Hotch mutters as he falls asleep. She pulls his arms tighter around her, burrowing into the comfort of his breath against her neck and the sound of the tree outside blowing rhythmically against the window.


	28. Day 28: Simple (Hotch, Prentiss)

**Prompt: Simple.**

She sits tense on the sofa, twirling the stem of the wilting flower in her fingers, staring into the darkness. Her eyes are getting heavy from too many days with not enough sleep, but closing them is not an option. Both phones sit on the coffee table in front of her – the one she uses for work and the newest disposable cell. He's coming for her, for her team, because of what she did. She's living a nightmare. She can't close her eyes…

But she can't keep them open…

Her head drops back and he's there – kisses and sobbing on jets and his hands on her and watching him beat one of his own men to a pulp and Declan slumped in a corner – and there's a knock at the door and she's on her feet instantly, before she's really conscious of the sound. Sergio twists around her ankles as she draws her gun and moves slowly, silently to the hallway. She shushes him softly as he starts to purr, keeping her eyes trained on the door. She considers the peephole but she knows what he's capable of and frankly the thought of exposing just her eye to him is horrifying.

She deals with the locks faster than she ever has before and throws the door open, her heart pounding in her throat and her gun aimed at chest height except –

"Woah. Emily. It's me." Hotch stands in the doorway with his hands raised, eyes wide.

"_Shit_. God. Okay. I – come in, quickly."

He steps across the threshold without question, says nothing about the way her eyes sweep over the hallway and stairwells before she closes the door. She fumbles one-handed with the locks until he reaches for her gun and takes it from her gently. When she's done she takes it back, slipping it into the back of her waistband with shaking hands.

"I think we need to talk," he says, settling a hand in the centre of her back and guiding her toward the living room, where Sergio has curled back up on the sofa.

She picks the cat up and settles him in her lap as she sits down, and Hotch follows. "I came to ask what's wrong," he says, his voice soft and low. "You're obviously not okay. And it looks like it's worse than I thought."

She shakes her head, pressing her lips together and trying to blink away the tears pooling in her eyes. "I can't, Hotch. I'm sorry."

"Emily. You pulled a gun on me. Who were you expecting to be on the other side of that door?" She stares down at Sergio in silence and he adds, "You don't seriously expect me to let this go."

Her shoulders slump. "You don't understand how dangerous -"

"Then help me. Tell me."

She chews her lip, scratching behind Sergio's ears, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the way the light plays on his fur, because she can't look at Hotch. He's in so much danger because of her and on top of that she nearly shot him… "I _can't_," she whispers, her voice smaller and more frightened than she meant it to be.

"We can help you."

"It's not that simple."

She forces herself to look at him. Their eyes lock, hers more frightened than he's ever seen them, and she starts chewing at her thumb. Something like fear starts to rise in his chest because he's never seen her this rattled, can't imagine what it would take. He takes her hand, tugs gently and she releases it from between her teeth. He drops his eyes, looks down at their hands, thinking of Foyet and his chest littered with scars and his knuckles broken from beating a man to death, and the way she didn't look at him any differently after that day. "It doesn't have to be simple."


End file.
